Pantheocide

Chapter Forty Five

Michael-Lan’s Office, Temple of Righteous Ardor, Eternal City

“Salaphael, how could you betray our Peerless Father this way?”

“It is not I who betray the One Above All. Those of his advisors who speak false words to Him and by deceit lure Him away from the path of Absolute Righteousness, they are the ones who betray The Immaculate Presence.”

By which you mean me. Michael-Lan looked at Salaphael-Lan-Yahweh without a shadow of regret at the state to which he had been reduced. The League of Holy Court had struck at dawn, using the lists that Lemuel and his team had so carefully compiled. Humans, angels, archangels had been dragged from their rest, placed in golden shackles and taken to the interrogation centers and prisons. The most important ones, the leaders, had been kept here in the Eternal City. The rest had been taken outside, to detention camps in the countryside. It would be easier to get rid of them quietly there.

“Salaphael, my old friend…”

Michael-Lan’s words were cut off, harshly and abruptly. “I am not your friend, Michael-Lan. Once perhaps, but you have abandoned the ways of millennia and cast away everything that we hold dear. You are not the friend of any here in the Eternal City, you are the center of the poison that corrupts everything that was, is now and ever more shall be.”

And so truth and falsehood get irretrievably mixed. Yes, Salaphael, I am at the center of the corruption that slowly spreads throughout the Eternal City. And in being so I am a better friend to every angel here than you could possibly imagine. For to have the humans come here with their weapons in their hands and hate in their hearts, that would be the final death of us all. Michael-Lan thought of the fate of Naypyidaw and Tel Aviv, the huge, boiling mushroom clouds that had consumed the cities. In his mind’s eye, he saw many more clouds, each dwarfing the ones he had already seen, swallowing the Eternal City. More and bigger certainly for Michael knew his humans well. If they had a weapon of great power, they would have built many of them and they wouldn’t stop until they had built them of incomparably greater power. Where destruction was concerned, humans just did not know when to stop.

“If you so wish, then so shall it be.” Michael-Lan injected sadness into his voice. “Salaphael-Lan-Yahweh, your words show that you have fallen victim to the deadly sin of Pride. Have you become so blinded by Pride that you cannot see the falsity of what you say? Our Beloved, All-Knowing Father cannot be deceived in the way you suggest for He knows what resides in the hearts of us all. Our thoughts are but an open book to him, to be read as he wills. His knowledge and insight are beyond anything that we, in our poor way, can imagine. All that is happening now is as he wills. Even your insurgency, carefully planned and structured as it is, is but a part of His Greater Plan.”

Salaphael laughed at that idea. “If this were true, the League would have exposed us earlier and… ” Then he stopped himself, he had been about to stumble out with the knowledge that not all of his insurgent cells had been rounded up. His organization still existed. Sorely hurt it was true, but it was out there. It could fight on, it could restore Yahweh to His rightful place and cast down those who had betrayed him.

“Who knows what Yahweh has in His Sublime Mind? Perhaps he refrained from giving the order until now so that the fruit of your rebellion would be ripe and fit for picking? Perhaps he wishes to test the efficiency of the League of Holy Court. If so His Divine Wish will be fulfilled. We will get from you and the others the information we need. By human methods if your descent into sin makes that necessary.”

His hands secured by golden shackles, his mind by the dogma he had taken for granted all his life, Salaphael was helpless to resist the words that were spoken so gently and regretfully. Doubts, so long absent from his mind, now swirled around him. He had convinced himself that Michael-Lan and those who aligned himself with the Great General were responsible for the decay of Heavenly virtue he saw everywhere. But, Michael-Lan’s words cast uncertainty into his mind. Did The One Above all plan this as a test of the obedience of His subjects? Was this part of the process of cleansing the Eternal City before the final, decisive conflict with the humans?

Michael-Lan saw the cloud of doubt replace the adamantine clarity of dogma on Salaphael’s face. You poor dumb cluck. You still believe in omnipotence and omniscience. You still think that such attributes are possible or even plausible. Can’t you see that it is your belief in such things that holds us all from learning? Humans broke out of their cage and leaped into their future the day they rejected belief of omniscience and asked the one simple question Yah-Yah fears more than any other. Why? Now, I must ask that question. “Salaphael, there are some questions I must ask before your interrogation is handed over to others. Why did your organization try to kill my friend Lemuel?”

“Lemuel? Because he was falling into the way of sin. He was becoming corrupted and sliding away from the True Path. His position at the League of Holy Court should have made him immune to temptation. The fact that he was not meant that he had to die.”

Michael nodded. Framed in Salaphael’s terms of reference, that made sense. “And my other question. What possessed you to make the humans use their weapons against each other. With the failure and death of Uriel, that was a maneuver of great skill. I would applaud it.” And do intend to take credit for it. I just want to find out how it was done.

Salaphael looked at him in amazement. “That was not your doing? It was certainly none of ours.”

Michael’s Palace, Aukumea, Heaven

“Distributed Axonic Brain Damage.” Doctor David Gunn rolled the words around as if they were a death sentence. Which was precisely what they were.

“Say again?” Michael-Lan was bemused, distracted. The last six words spoken to him by Salaphael had been rolling around his mind ever since he had started the flight home. Did they mean there was yet another conspiracy aimed at supplanting Yahweh? Or was this Yahweh himself with a deeper plan than Michael had given him credit for? Michael-Lan had to know the answer to that question.

“Dumah and Fluffy both have massive, irreversible brain damage. Fluffy can’t recover, he’s dying and we can’t save him. Dumah, well, she might survive but she’ll be a vegetable. Her brain is decaying hourly. Just a question now of whether the damage will stop spreading before her vital functions are compromised. I won’t hold out many hopes there.”

“How did this happen? They were both badly wounded I know, but she was speaking and seemed rational. What went wrong?”

Gunn sighed and waved to Shannon Lowney. She brought a great plate over, one that bore a life-sized copy of an angelic brain made out of Michael-Lan’s favorite strawberry Jello. “This is her brain right? Well, she got caught in a pattern of bomb explosions, big ones. They threw her backwards and forwards, side to side, with incredible violence. They literally shook her brain apart.” Gunn shook the plate hard. “Look at the Jello. See all the cracks running through it now? Well, her brain is like that, there are fractures all through it. Now, the brain is linked up by something called axons. When her brain fractured, those axons were torn apart. Some severed completely, others just damaged. Now, they’re all dying and as they die, so too do parts of her brain. We can’t go in there to fix it, its her whole brain that’s affected. Fluffy’s been hit as well, just as badly, but his brain is smaller and simpler. It’s gone. He’s got a few hours more at the outside.”

Michael-Lan looked over at the mass of the Scarlet Beast, sprawled across his garden. It was barely moving now, its tongue sagging out of his mouth, its chest moving in irregular pants. Its eyes were already dimming and the intelligence that had once been in them was gone. “Isn’t there anything you can do for Dumah?” He’d wanted her dead, not left alive as a mindless hulk.

Gunn shook his head. “Get a modern doctor, that might help. When I was killed, knowledge of the brain and how these axionic injuries worked was at a very early stage, quite primitive. More than twenty years have passed since then, in medical terms that makes me hopelessly out of date. You can bet a modern doctor knows a lot more than I do. But, to be honest, I don’t think it will help. The only hope I can give you is that I don’t think any Angel has ever had an injury like this before. You heal so much better than we do, its just possible her brain will regenerate. We’ll just have to watch and see. Even if it does regenerate though, it might connect up quite differently. That’ll make her a wholly different person. We just don’t know.”

Michael appeared to be thinking hard, as indeed he was. The subject wasn’t quite what Gunn imagined through. To Michael, Gunn’s words epitomized the whole mind-set that had brought down Hell and threatened Heaven with destruction. More than twenty years have passed since then, in medical terms that makes me hopelessly out of date. To an Angel, twenty years were nothing, inconsequential, a flicker of an eyelid. Yet human knowledge was now advancing so fast that the same time period on Earth meant that what had been the peak of modernity at its start was dated and obsolescent by its end. All because of that one question. Why?

“Do what you can for her, David. Fight for her as hard as you can.”

“I always fight as hard as I can for all my patients.” Gunn’s voice was cold.

Michael-Lan noted that and was sorely tempted to blast him where he stood for his insolence. Then he brought his anger back under control. Displays of anger didn’t work any more, they just made the person delivering them look foolish. And that often meant that whoever it was had missed something important. “As you should David. Now, make sure your team has everything it needs. If there are things you do not have or are in short supply, let me know immediately. I will arrange them somehow.”

Gunn nodded and decided to inventory his supplies. He would find some shortages somewhere, he was sure of that. Because he was convinced that every time Michael-Lan went to Earth was another chance for him to make the mistake that would open up Heaven to a human invasion.

Street of Angelic Beatitude, Eternal City, Heaven.

The streets of purest jasper, kerbed with opals and surrounded by palaces and temples that were clad with precious and semi-precious stones in quantities that were beyond comprehension went unnoticed by Lemuel-Lan-Michael. He walked along those streets, staring downwards, but lost in mystified contemplation of his personal situation. Today should have been a triumph for him. His weeks of work in carefully investigating the First Conspiracy, identifying its members and establishing the links between them had finally been put to good use. All that were known of the First Conspiracy had been rounded up and taken into custody. The chambers of the interrogation center rang with their screams as they were probed for the information that would identify the rest of their foul clique. Today was a day that should have filled him with righteous pride.

Yet it did not. One reason was the attitude that surrounded him on the street. He had expected a reaction from the Angelic Host when news of the arrests broke and spread. He had certainly seen that, only it had not been the reaction he had anticipated. He had expected rejoicing, a massive display of exultation that the threat to Yahweh had been eliminated. Instead he sensed only fear, the Host stepping into the light cautiously, peering around them, wondering who would be the next to see the League of Holy Court on their doorstep. Would they be the ones placed in golden shackles and led away for questioning? They were silent, not trusting their neighbors or their friends since any one of them could be the informer that would send them away to the detention centers.

For all that, Lemuel knew that the depression that filled him had little to do with the unexpected reaction to all the arrests. His home situation had continued to deteriorate and there was little there now to give him the peace and tranquility that he so badly needed. His mate, Onniel, refused to speak to him. She had not said a word to him for weeks now. She lived in silence, his attempts to address her ended by her walking away. His home was a cold and lonely place, unwelcoming and hostile. He had tried, he had tried hard. He had even stayed away from the Temple of Ceaseless Compliance for a few days in an effort to reconcile Onniel but the gesture had been ignored. The effort had actually made him ill and his return to the Temple had been the only thing that had calmed his spirit. Almost unconsciously, what had started as random wandering through the streets of the Eternal City was taking him there now.

“Your spirit is deeply troubled Brother?” Perpetiel-Lan-Paschar spoke with concern mixed with pride that he, a lowly Bene-Elohim, should be allowed to address such a distinguished Ophanim as ‘brother’. And the perception that the exalted Ophanim should have a troubled spirit was no surprise to him. A great deal of effort was being made to ensure than Lemuel’s spirit was as troubled as possible. Why, Perpetiel wasn’t quite sure, but there was no doubt that troubling Lemuel’s spirit was one of Michael-Lan’s higher priorities.

“It is, deeply so. The arrests today…. ” Lemuel broke off, his words failing him.

“Ah, yes. Indeed, it is a sad day for the Host. That so many should have turned their faces from the True Path and neglected their duty to The One Above Us All. Truly, the spirit of the Eternal Enemy must have possessed them.” Perpetiel looked as if he was about to weep at the very concept.

Now that was an interesting thought. Lemuel’s mind lifted clear of the clouds of depression that enveloped it. His troubles had started with the death of Satan at the hands of humans. Had his malignant spirit, freed from his body, become more powerful in death than it could ever have been in life? Was it possessing members of the Angelic Host and leading them to perdition?

“It is not the arrests themselves, brother, that trouble me so. Sometimes, even the best-willed are led astray.” Careful, don’t hint that you include the congregation of the Temple of Ceaseless Compliance in that category. “It is the reaction of the Angelic Host itself. I had expected rejoicing and exultation that the threat to Our Almighty Father had been removed. Instead, I see fear and suspicion.”

As they had been speaking, Lemuel and Perpetiel had drifted off the street into the Temple itself. Unnoticed by Lemuel, Perpetiel had glanced around to ensure that the opiate-loaded scent baskets were in place and already filling the air with their sublime odor. “Brother, does this surprise you? The Eternal Enemy always has been sly and devious in his ways. If he is indeed dead and never to return, does it not surprise you that his successor would be of equal qualities? So the Host fear that they too, have been swept up into the net and deceived unknowingly. When they realize how much work the League of Holy Court has placed into hunting down all those afflicted, they will realize they are safe and their joy will become manifest.”

Lemuel felt his heart lifting and tranquility beginning to suffuse his soul. That alone made him doubt his assessment of this place. If it was so misguided, how was it that every time he visited here, his spirit was uplifted and his doubts and depression removed? Could it be that this place was, in fact the true path? He prostrated himself on the floor and started his recitations of adoration for the Great Father Of All.

Behind him Perpetiel left the altar room of the temple with unseemly haste. He didn’t want to breath the atmosphere there any longer than he had to and he seriously wanted to get some clean air into his lungs. Although he didn’t know it, Lemuel was well and truly hooked now and Perpetiel didn’t want to follow his example. Anyway, he had some preparations to make for this was the night that Lemuel would be introduced to the Montmartre Club.

Secret Viewing Gallery, Interrogation Chambers, Headquarters, League of Holy Court.

Salaphael ‘s screams rang through the heavy rock of the chambers, shaking them and causing a steady trickle of dust to fall on those picked up in the great purge. It filled the air, causing the torches that lit the chambers to become misted, their light diffuse and dispersed. There was even a slight red tinge to it. To Michael-Lan and his companion watching the scene below, it was unpleasantly reminiscent of Hell.

Qaphsiel-Lan-Shekinah watched the sight with horror. Salaphael had been pinned down to a table, his feet raised over his head, a cloth over his face and buckets of water poured over him. That had just been the start of a long process, now the interrogators were moving to more destructive and agonizing methods. Ominously, a long metal rod had been placed in a brazier and was already beginning to glow red hot.

“We call this the Edward The Second treatment. A human king once upset his nobles so they killed him that way. We don’t think it will kill an Archangel but we’re not quite sure. Nobody has ever tried it up here – at least up there – before.”

Qaphiel realized what was intended and was suddenly, violently sick all over the stone floor. Michael-Lan rather envied him for that, he would like to do the same but would have to wait until later. Qaphiel wiped his mouth and stared at the mess disfiguring the flawless stone slabs.

“You’ll have to clean that up Qaphiel. One of the Ishim will get you a bucket of water and a mop.” Michael’s offhand comment underlined Qaphiel’s position more clearly than any threat could have done. Normally, such menial tasks would have been the lot of a human servant. Getting the job put Qaphiel on a lower level even than them. “By the way, has it occurred to you that, since this is the fate of a Chayot-ha-Kodesh who dared to be part of this conspiracy, how much worse that awaiting a Hashmallim must be?”

The comment produced another burst of vomiting, causing Michael to move his feet clear in case they got splashed. Qaphiel stared at Michael-Lan, his eyes filled with terror. “No, I beg you. I, we, were mislead.”

“You’ll be trying ‘we were only obeying orders next’. Didn’t work for them, won’t work for you.” Michael looked at Qaphiel and sighed. The allusion had been missed completely. Well, that was the problem that destroyed Hell he thought. They didn’t watch humans closely enough. Pay attention to humans, they really are worth the effort. And not doing so is lethally dangerous. “There is only one thing that can save you from this fate Qaphiel-Lan-Shekinah. You, your cell in this ridiculous insurgency and a few others have been spared from arrest – temporarily. I have tasks for you, tasks that fit in well with what Salaphael had planned. Tasks that only you can perform. Do them well, do exactly as I order you and the files that condemn you will be mislaid, never to be found again. Believe that and you’ll believe anything sucker.

Below them, Salaphael ‘s screams reached a wildly demented climax that cracked the stone slab floor in the viewing chamber. Damn, that will make cleaning this place up so much harder. Still that’s Qaphiel’s problem. Michael-Lan stole a quick glance at the Hashmallim standing beside him. Qaphiel caught the look and nodded urgently.

“I am your servant Michael-Lan. I will do as you command.”